


blue fire

by books_and_spite



Series: all we see is light [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memories, Recovery, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Wakes & Funerals, french as a love language (sorry for being pretentious)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/books_and_spite/pseuds/books_and_spite
Summary: "Last night I dreamed about being burned alive. I don’t know why, just- it was frightening. And you weren’t there. You couldn’t save me."Or: In which Thomas Jefferson falls apart a million different ways.A look at Jefferson’s point of view of "fade to grey".
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Series: all we see is light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052852
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	blue fire

**Author's Note:**

> alt title: me being emo over the soulmate-verse even though i was the one who wrote the first fic for however many words this is, with a bonus side of italics and brackets. and many, many dick moves. enjoy my pain. enjoy your pain. 
> 
> also:  
> my brain: that last bit is like spotify wrapped  
> me: (already thinking of ways to repent)

_ Last night I dreamed about being burned alive. I don’t know why, just- it was frightening. And you weren’t there. You couldn’t save me.  _

_ The fire was blue. I remember that. Blue flames are maybe the hottest, you know? Ironic for being coloured blue. We associate it with cold, because of that. We don’t think it burns, but it does. I think it was painful, but it’s just a blur. Just a dream. It can’t hurt. _

_ All the same. Will you come over? I’m sick and tired and everything hurts and I need you, Thomas.  _

_ I have to go now. I miss you. Stay safe, my beloved bother. Don’t do anything stupid. Je t’aime. Not je t’ai aimé. I hope not. You remember, don’t you? _

_ Yours always, my treasured one. I love you.  _

_ James.  _

_ 28 June.  _

* * *

Thomas Jefferson is  _ supposed  _ to be fine.

He has to be fine, because he does not  _ know  _ how not to be fine, he does not  _ know  _ how to mourn without hurting himself over and over and over again, and he has to do something. He can’t live his life like this. He can’t mourn over a dead man forever.

But he can’t stop himself, all the same. How is he expected to?

How is he expected to forget James Madison when the whole damn  _ world  _ is reminding him, every single day, that James- _ his soulmate- _ James is dead? Because there is no light in his world. Not anymore. _ Not again. _ There’s nothing here for him but a thousand different shades of grey. 

He can barely remember what colour looks like sometimes. Or worse, he can imagine it so vividly, he can almost believe that James is still there. With him. Happy. Alive. 

He imagines James’ death so much, or remembers it, until really the details are blurring in his head, until it feels like a horrible, twisted mockery of a memory. It  _ is  _ a memory and it is a nightmare and it is a haunting. Sometimes things change. Sometimes there’s fear in James’ eyes, sometimes it’s peace, sometimes it’s raging, screaming, burning  _ pain.  _

The one thing that stays the same is the  _ click-boom  _ of the colours around him, fading away. The one thing that stays the same is the  _ hurt,  _ the  _ betrayal,  _ and the knowing, the knowing that this will be his life from now on. 

(“Colours are beautiful,” James says to him, one night when it’s dark and you can barely see anything. It’s so ironic that Thomas can’t help but laugh, but he feels what James is saying in his very soul-  **_you_ ** _ are beautiful. You are good. _ He is so in love. James tilts his head up and glances at Thomas, eyes amused, a fond smile on his lips. 

James’ eyes are blue, the brightest, most piercing blue that he’s ever seen, that he will  _ ever  _ see, burning bright. They are his hope and his dreams and his life. 

_ “Magnifique,”  _ Thomas agrees, and is rewarded with a laugh, James’ eyes sparkling, what he wouldn’t give to be able to spend every moment of his  _ life  _ with James.)

(He did not prepare for a scenario where he did not die first.)

He is  _ trying,  _ he is standing on the edge of a cliff, trying not to step over the edge, trying _ so _ hard, James, you have to believe me, _ wait for me, James,  _ **_no-_ **

_ (don’t think about James)  _

_ (don’t think about how he was so in pain)  _

_ (don’t think about how he held your hand as he died) _

He falls. Always. Sometimes.

_ (the way he would smile at you like you were his world) _

_ (the way he’d tell you something and you would laugh) _

_ (the way he liked yellow flowers, don’t you remember, Thomas, how they were laid on his grave?) _

_ (the way he loved you) _

_ (the way he said that he would always love you, well he  _ **_didn’t)_ **

_ (the way you are  _ **_nothing_ ** _ without him, no, shut  _ **_up-)_ **

(James’ ghost will always be looking over his shoulder, watching him, he’s there but he’s not and that makes it even  _ worse.) _

He is clawing his way back up. And that, that’s the worst part of it all, because he can feel the terrible, terrible ache of piecing himself back together, knowing that  _ something  _ is missing that should be there. His heart is bleeding but he  _ must  _ go on or he will destroy himself.

The  _ must  _ is what makes it hurt most. He hates this. He  _ hates  _ it. But there is no  _ choice  _ for him, not anymore, was there ever a choice in the first place?

Isn’t love meant to be beautiful?

If it’s meant to be beautiful then why does it  _ hurt _ so much?

But Thomas has to stay strong. He cannot  _ let  _ the cracks show, even though they are what make him now. 

Even though he is so very  _ broken  _ sometimes.

He  _ chose  _ James. Soulmate or no, James has always been  _ his,  _ not just fate’s choice for him, but  _ his  _ choice,  _ his  _ dream- 

But he’s fine. Everything is fine, fine,  _ fine-  _ he is not okay and he is coping but he’s not, how can your whole world just be  _ upended  _ like that?

He’s fine. Truly. 

(The way he can’t bring himself to even buy flowers, even _look_ at anything involving- _funerals_ , **_fuck,_** says otherwise.)

(Everything he does  _ screams  _ otherwise.)

The world does not know just how in love he was with James, and they will  _ never  _ know, because the world has no  _ right  _ to that- the world has no right to this  _ one thing  _ that he can keep.  _ No one  _ will  _ ever  _ have the right to know that. 

This is  _ his  _ and  _ his  _ alone. 

This is  _ his  _ mourning. 

(No one can bring themselves to make him do anything at all, and for that- for  _ that,  _ at least, he is grateful.)

Days go by, the funeral goes by, it passes in a blur of  _ grief desperation regret hatred,  _ he doesn’t think until everyone else has left and Thomas is alone.

He doesn’t think as he pushes his way past Alexander, doesn’t think as he touches the flowers, doesn’t  _ think  _ as he pathetically asks  _ are they yellow? _

(He didn’t get yellow flowers for their first date, and James was deathly allergic to roses, and they both  _ laughed  _ over it. They were so  _ young.  _ So young and bright and full of innocence, and they never thought they would  _ leave  _ each other. It was like a dream, their days together, and he didn’t want to wake  _ up,  _ he never wanted to wake up.)

(He’s bought James countless bouquets of yellow flowers before, why not for  _ this?) _

(Has he really sunk this low?)

(He never memorized the colour of James’ eyes. Not really. That bright, piercing blue, he remembers that much, but even that sear of colour is fading from his memory now, how  _ could  _ he?)

He doesn’t think through breaking down, apart from the numb feeling in his mind, the _screaming:_ _you cannot break you cannot break you_ ** _must_** _not break._ He is vaguely aware of the way his knees give out, somewhat, vaguely aware of the way his clothes are probably being _ruined,_ he just can’t bring himself to care. 

(He is thinking. Too much.)

It’s not a gradual thing- it has been this  _ painful  _ since the very first moment. But- he is finally letting himself crack,  _ so sorry, James, so sorry.  _ A moment, one point in time suspended in a void, and all of a sudden he is letting Alexander see him break,  _ so sorry _ . 

Just keep going.

He is crying, isn’t he? He is so  _ pathetic.  _

Alexander’s arms around him. 

_ I miss you,  _ how can you miss someone who’s never really left your mind? 

How can he break like this? He deserves this, he  _ deserves  _ this, he should have done something, god, the  _ flowers-  _

_ James, James, I miss you, please come back, please don’t haunt me anymore. _

_ James, don’t you think I deserve this? I deserve this, I’m so sorry.  _

But then Alexander is pulling him up and grabbing him by the shoulders and talking. “Listen to me. You do not deserve this.”

Thomas cannot physically  _ force  _ himself to respond. Because  _ James.  _ His soulmate. His choice. It is sinking in. 

But then- 

“James wouldn’t want this.” 

And there is a primal fury igniting within him, because  _ how can Alexander understand, he’s not the one who’s  _ **_lost_ ** _ someone-  _ and he turns on Alexander with a vengeance. 

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ bring him into this-  _ don’t you fucking dare- _ I fucking  _ loved _ him and he’s gone and I should have been able to  _ save _ him, he was my world, he was my life, he was  _ everything!” _

Just as soon as it starts it’s over. All he feels is tired and hurting and he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to be  _ angry  _ anymore. “Sorry. He was your friend too. I know. I’m  _ sorry.” _

James  _ loved  _ Alexander like a  _ brother,  _ Alexander is hurting too, but all the same- how can he understand? Eliza Schuyler is his soulmate and she’s still  _ alive,  _ he still has his world and Thomas-  _ doesn’t. _

_ I have to be dreaming. _

He’s not dreaming.

Not dreaming not dreaming  _ not dreaming  _ why can’t he wake  _ up- _

He’s falling back into Alexander’s arms, and being led to a car, _ “I’m taking you back home with me tonight, just tonight, tell me if you don’t want to.” _

“I want to.” 

His hands find their way to his long sleeve, and he starts picking at it, it’s an old tic from when he was a  _ kid _ , he  _ thought  _ that he had grown out of that.

_ James  _ had gotten him out of it-

Why is he  _ crying-  _

Alexander is looking at him with pity and  _ god,  _ he doesn’t deserve this.

He  _ hates  _ this,  _ hates  _ it-

_ (you do, don’t you?) _

_ (don’t you deserve this?) _

_ (don’t you know that you could have saved him?) _

_ (don’t you know that you never deserved him?) _

“The flowers were yellow, weren’t they?”

“They were,” Alexander tells him.

And that’s the  _ finishing  _ blow, things will never be normal again, and he can’t even spare the emotion to crack, fully, just- a little bit of a slump.

_ (don’t say his name) _

_ (you don’t deserve to say his name) _

_ (you don’t deserve to remember him at all) _

_ (you never deserved it, you never deserved it,  _ **_you never deserved his love)_ **

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Alexander begs.

Thomas blinks. Had he been hurting himself? ( _Yes,_ _Thomas, oh Thomas,_ the voice in the back of his head whispers, the one that sounds like- he tells it to _shut up_.)

Oh. His hands. They’re bleeding.

He obligingly uncurls his fingers, he shouldn’t have. He deserves this. He  _ does.  _ Presses his hands together like he’s praying. 

Something digs into his palm. 

The ring- he’d forgotten about it,  _ god,  _ the fucking _ ring- _

It’s been what. A month? James was practically bed-ridden and he’d still managed to procure the ring, Thomas has treasured it from the moment James slid it over his finger. It was a promise ring, he’d said.

He looked so in  _ pain.  _ Thomas hadn’t questioned it. Just taken the ring and pretended things would be okay.

_ Together forever,  _ that was the inscription on the ring. He’s traced it enough times to know how it  _ feels,  _ knows it as well as he knows James’ touch and James’ lips and  _ James.  _ It  _ is  _ James, isn’t it? 

He should’ve  _ known,  _ he should’ve  _ known  _ the world wasn’t wide enough for the both of them-

James had known he was going to die, and still-

Thomas had been  _ stupid. _

(James smiles, shyly like it’s the first time they’re meeting, lifts the ring box to Thomas’ hands. The box is made of velvet and it’s that particular shade of magenta that James despises and Thomas loves.

_ “James,” _ Thomas says helplessly. 

“Thomas. _ Mon amour,” _ James breathes. “Can you- can I-?”

Thomas knows what he means. How can he  _ not  _ know, they know each other better than they know themselves. He opens the box, lets James fit the ring on his finger with cold, trembling hands. Jemmy.  _ My dearest Jemmy.  _ He only calls James that when he is  _ desperate,  _ it slipped out the first time James held his hand, fell off his tongue again when they graduated, emerged once more when they got elected.

And now it heralds- what, death? Pain? Despair?

_ Stop thinking.) _

He twists it, painfully, letting it scrape at his skin. It’s grey now. Like everything else. He still remembers it being blue. 

It  _ meant  _ something. 

It was always meant for  _ this.  _ The grief. The mourning. Rebirth, new life, the  _ end  _ of something. Isn’t it ironic? The June birthstone, bringing James’  _ death.  _

Thomas tears it off and shoves it in his pocket. He doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to remember, he is  _ done  _ remembering-

(“It’s moonstone, isn’t that so?” Thomas says instead. Almost translucent, but with a blue hue to it, like James’ eyes. 

“Mm. Mourning stone,” James murmurs, tiredly. “June’s birthstone. Maybe- maybe rebirth.” He makes a small sound. “The imagery isn’t all that positive. Maybe that’s saying something.”

“You won’t die,” Thomas promises him. “You’ll get better, and then we’ll go on, together, yeah? Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi. Together forever,” words tearing themselves from James’ lips almost painfully, still clutching Thomas’ hand like a lifeline. 

“Together forever,” Thomas repeats. The engraving on the ring, isn’t it?

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” James recites, almost laughingly. “I swear. I’m trying, Thomas. I-” He breaks off into a coughing fit. “I don’t want to  _ go!” _

“Shh, I know, I know,” Thomas soothes. “We’ll be alright. We’ll be alright, Jemmy.”

James tightens his grip on Thomas’ hand. “Don’t say that. Not- it’s not desperate. Not yet.”

And James- James has always known Thomas better than Thomas knows himself. 

What would Thomas do without him?)

(Fall apart.)

“ _ Jemmy,”  _ Thomas whispers, the name forming on his lips like a prayer. 

Alexander raises his eyes to the sky. Thomas lowers his.

_ God, James. I need you. I don’t know how to live without you. I don’t know how the world will go on without you.  _

_ Please.  _

* * *

Alexander treats Thomas like a porcelain doll when he settles Thomas in. His wife, Eliza, starts making tea as soon as the two of them come through the door, and they must be a sight, because Eliza Schuyler Hamilton has never been one to be irrational.

He’s a few inches taller than Alexander, Thomas recalls; that must make them look even stranger, the pathetic one and his tiny desperate caretaker, and he almost  _ laughs  _ at that.

What is he going to do?

What is his life going to be, he cannot imagine it without James, they’ve been friends since they were three  _ fucking  _ years old and they were soulmates, James was his other half, his confidante and his best friend and his dream. 

_ Go through the motions. _

So he does.

He drinks Eliza’s tea (hawthorn rose, made with care, he isn’t a tea connoisseur by any means but he knows  _ enough),  _ begrudgingly eats dinner when she sends him a look, he is  _ trying  _ and it should be easy but- how is he meant to forget? 

(James makes the best tea. Of course, Thomas doesn’t like tea all that much, but he indulges his boyfriend. Besides, it really  _ is  _ good.

That does not change the fact that having about four boxes of tea drop on him when he opens the cupboard in their apartment is  _ not  _ an ideal situation. 

“What the  _ fuck-” _

James comes rushing up to him from his seat at their dining table, picks up the boxes and sets them on the counter with a graceful sort of dexterity. “Oh my God, Thomas, I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about those.”

“I’m fine, love,” Thomas assures him, accepting a kiss on the cheek anyway. “That is a  _ lot  _ of tea, though.”

“There was a sale on,” James shrugs. “Did you expect anything else? Come now, you know better than that.”

Thomas laughs ruefully. “I guess I do. Anything for me?”

It’s meant half as a joke, but James lights up. “Yes, as a matter of fact.” He picks one of the boxes up, holds it like a trophy. “Rose tea. I don’t know, but I do think you’ll like it.” He crosses the kitchen and grabs a chipped mug- it reads “World’s Best Boyfriend”, they have matching ones bought at some corner store. “It’s really nice!”

Thomas seats himself on the kitchen counter. “Try me, then.” He grins wickedly. “Maybe it’ll taste as sweet as you do.”

James sighs. “And here you are complaining about Alexander making too many innuendoes.” 

“I can’t help it, you’re beautiful.”

“And you are  _ incorrigible.” _

Thomas just smiles and watches James make the tea, muttering under his breath. James pulls himself up onto the counter once he’s done, offers Thomas the mug. Thomas takes a sip- oh, it  _ is  _ good. He drinks more.

“I knew it,” James murmurs.

Thomas puts the cup down and kisses him- you know what, no tea will ever be as sweet as James Madison.)

This is  _ obsessive,  _ but-  _ but- _

(you don’t deserve him.)

This is a  _ nightmare.  _

Eliza handles him with all the patience of a saint, her eyes glitter with  _ understanding  _ while Alexander’s shine with hope. He likes her. He always has, dear, good Eliza. 

The downside to that is that she sees things.

He  _ knows  _ she sees it. He can hear her whispering with Alexander after they send him off to change. 

He just doesn’t want to know, wouldn’t that be  _ better? _

The door to the guest room is open. Eliza had shown it to him earlier, said quietly, “Stay.” 

Fine then. He’ll stay. He’ll stay and maybe when he wakes up this will all have been a dream and he’ll be back in Monticello with James in his arms, curled into his chest, maybe things will be fine, maybe he’ll remember his colours and he’ll remember blue and he won’t  _ hurt.  _ Maybe James will talk about literary motifs over tea and Thomas can still smile at him as he drinks his coffee, James always laughed at how sweet he took it. James loved him.

Lov _ ed _ . Past tense.

_ Fucking  _ language-

(“Fucking language!” Thomas curses, one day. They’re still in school, still think they can rule the world. They do go on to do  _ something,  _ at least. Bleeding-heart Democrats, the press calls them, but- it’s something. 

But for now they are children.

James laughs at him, leans over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, my beloved bother?”

“Everything, my dearest downfall,” Thomas laments. “How do I conjugate verbs, James,  _ help,  _ I need practice.”

“And here I thought you were the Francophile between us,” James says fondly. He picks up Thomas’ book. “...I love you.” Oh, he definitely did that on purpose. Well, Thomas isn’t complaining.

“...Je t'ai aimé?” Thomas tries.

“That’s ‘loved’,” James corrects. “And I’m not dead yet.”

“...Je t’aime,” Thomas decides.  _ I love you. I love you, James Madison.  _

“Je t’aime aussi,” James says, with a small, infinitely beautiful smile, and Thomas kisses him right then and there.

James laughs, but he kisses back, he tastes like the sky and he tastes like roses and he tastes like  _ home.) _

_ (stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking) _

(He’s dead.)

He remembers to lock the door before he sits on the bed and starts picking viciously at his sleeve. It’s Alexander’s shirt and a pair of jeans and it feels so  _ off,  _ and yet- does it matter? 

It _ could  _ be colourful for all he knows.

But it’s just- grey. 

And he’ll never know, ever again, he’s  _ lost  _ his colours, he is going to have to live out the rest of his  _ fucking life  _ without them and he’ll have to act like this isn’t hurting him, he’ll have to- get  _ used  _ to it.

How?

How can he get used to this?

How can he look James’ ghost in the eye and say no to this? This- the grief is  _ seductive,  _ it’s an  _ escape _ , he doesn’t want to just stop  _ thinking  _ about James, he can’t just let it  _ go- _

He buries his head in his hands. And cries. He didn’t know he had tears left in him. These are just helpless tears, honestly, everything is so numb, how many breaking points are there going to be? 

Alexander and Eliza hover outside the door; he hears them coming and tries, desperately, to make himself look presentable for them. 

He unlocks the door as a key ring jingles. Click-creak. 

“Alexander. Eliza. Are you coming in?” He greets. On second thoughts, that may not have been the best way to phrase it. Well. 

“We are worried about you, Thomas,” Eliza says. “Are you- will you be alright?”

Thomas barks a short, exhausted laugh. They  _ know.  _ He won’t be. This is pathetic. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No,” Eliza agrees gently, “but once the initial hurt is over- if this lasts too long, you will need help.”

Of course he will. He knows that. But  _ help-  _ that means forgetting, doesn’t it? How? 

“I loved him,” Thomas pleads. “Do you expect me not to hurt? He was my soulmate. He was my  _ world.” _

“We know that, Thomas,” Alexander jumps in, unnecessarily kindly. “But-”

“Let me mourn.  _ Please,” _ Thomas cuts him off. “Just for this while.” He is calmer than he feels, why,  _ why, help me James, you know what to do.  _

No, no, this is all  _ wrong,  _ he doesn’t want to mourn, he’s got to be  _ fine,  _ but James, but  _ life,  _ but his soulmate. He shouldn’t  _ settle  _ for this. 

_ Save me, save me,  _ **_help_ ** _ me,  _ he begs someone, doesn’t know who. No one here to help him now. 

Alexander and Eliza leave him alone. 

He cries.

(blue eyes stare back at him)

_ (don’t go) _

(they all go, in the end.)

* * *

He stays awake through the night, listening, praying, mourning. He changes back into his own clothes on instinct-  _ don’t make me stop stealing your clothes, love. That’s mean. Shut up. shutupshutupshut _ **_up-_ **

(Thomas is still awake. Why is he still awake? 

He probably should not have drunk his coffee that late at night, but. Well. It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it? He shifts in their bed, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is shirtless. Oh well. It’s not that cold. It’s winter, sure, but their room is heated- it’s not that bad. 

Besides, he’s not waking James up for that. Thomas can go without a shirt. 

Of course, with his luck, James wakes up anyway; he groans, rubs a hand over his eyes, and snuggles closer, tucked into Thomas’ side with one of Thomas’ arms around his shoulders. 

“It’s late, Thomas,” he says, his voice coming out more like a raspy whine. “Why are you still up?”

“Sorry, love,” Thomas soothes, planting a kiss on James’ head. His boyfriend is  _ not  _ a morning person. It’s cute. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Thomas, I swear to Lemony  _ fucking  _ Snicket, if you keep on waking me up, you can find someone else to suck your dick,” James mutters moodily. He presses his head into the crook of Thomas’ neck anyway. “I’m cold.”

“You stole my shirt,” Thomas points out. “I can’t do much about that, James.”

James makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat, and Thomas sighs. “Okay, okay, James, really, you’re like- a needy kitten.” He gathers James up in his arms and pulls him into a  _ real  _ hug, letting James curl even closer to him. 

Huh. James is freezing.

That’s not good. 

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” He checks. 

James lets out a breath. “I think. Let me _sleep,_ Thomas. I’ll be fine. Please?”

“Of course. Goodnight, dear,” Thomas says fondly, kissing James again.

“Goodnight, Thomas, I love you,” James mumbles sleepily, letting his head fall back onto Thomas’ shoulder.

“Love you too,” Thomas whispers back. But James is already asleep, breathing quietly, calm and content and at  _ peace.  _

God. Thomas is so in  _ love  _ with this man. It’s safe here. He never wants to leave.)

And everything is too  _ much  _ and he can’t take this and everything is a blur, what is he  _ doing,  _ going through the motions-  _ just keep going- _

Thomas  _ runs. _

* * *

He goes to the graveyard without even  _ thinking  _ of it. 

The  _ fucking  _ graveyard, the flowers are still there, the ones that are supposed to be yellow.

Mourning is hurting.

Not mourning is forgetting.

Which one is worse?

* * *

(“You won’t forget me, will you?” James asks laughingly. They’re sitting on James’ bed, they’re seventeen, Thomas is about to go off on an overseas exchange program to France.

Thomas plants an overexaggerated kiss on James’ cheek. “Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt thou the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love. See? I  _ was  _ listening when you were talking about Shakespeare. I  _ am  _ a good boyfriend.”

“Charming,” James says archly. “You do know Hamlet and Ophelia both  _ die.” _

“We won’t die, James,” Thomas assures. “Together forever.”

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part,” James recites. He smiles shyly and Thomas feels his heart flutter like some damsel in distress. 

“Wedding vows, huh?” He breathes. 

James grabs his hand and squeezes it. His hand is small compared to Thomas’. Thomas squeezes back.

“We haven’t been apart for this long, ever. I’m not sure if we’ve ever really been apart. Just- stay safe.” James breaks off. “Stay safe for me.”

Thomas lifts James’ hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles gently. “I will. I promise. I don’t care what I have to go through, what kind of pain it causes me, I  _ promise  _ you, James, we’ll make it through.”

“Je t’aime,” James says, almost distantly, like he's following a script. “Remember?”

“Je t’aime aussi,” Thomas replies. _I remember._ _I love you. I always will.)_

* * *

All the same, he starts spending most of his time there. Just- looking at the gravestone. Trying to remember James. 

Trying to remember James’ eyes.

They were blue.

What does blue look like? 

He doesn’t remember and that is tearing him  _ apart. _

_ James, I miss you. James, come back. James. Please. Save me.  _

* * *

(Thomas is woken up by a scream.

For a moment he’s disoriented, he doesn’t know where he  _ is,  _ why is he in a hospital-  _ James.  _ James, his political ally, James, his best friend, his lover, his  _ soulmate.  _

Are they sixteen? Is he here because James has caught pneumonia again? He’s  _ told  _ James before that he should wrap up warmer, stay out of the cold. No. Wait. They’re not fifteen. That was eight years ago and they’re not kids anymore. They’re politicians, working with George Washington, twenty-four years old, and James-

James is  _ dying,  _ isn’t he?

James is the one who’s screaming, wait,  _ fuck- _

Thomas grabs James’ hand, sitting upright from his hospital chair. “James.  _ James.  _ Mon amour, wake up. Wake up, come on, love-”

James’ eyes fly open and he flinches, choking on his breath, Thomas clasps his hand with a firm grip. “Easy. You’re fine, James. Just fine, sweetheart.”

“I-  _ Thomas-” _

“Shh, I know, I know, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

James looks terrified out of his mind, eyes wide, breathing fast _.  _ “I was  _ choking-” _

“No, no, you’re okay, love,” Thomas soothes. He traces one finger over James’ cheek, a familiar gesture. Safety. Comfort. James relaxes, if only infinitesimally. He coughs weakly.

“Oh. Oh- I’m sorry,” James says dazedly, his breaths slowing.

“No need to be sorry,” Thomas tells him. He strokes James’ cheek again, methodically, he wants to just  _ hug  _ James so badly right now. “Want to talk about it?”

They’ve done this before, it’s a relatively familiar ritual. From when they were twelve, maybe thirteen. There’s a scripted feel to it. That’s fine. Routine is fine. 

Maybe they can go back to being little kids. With scraped knees and nervousness over tests. Thomas  _ wants  _ to go back to that, they didn’t  _ know  _ what death was, they- they wouldn’t have ended up like this. 

“Flowers,” James decides. 

“Yeah?”

“You know- Hanahaki? Flowers. Filling your lungs. I was- coughing them up, they suffocated me-  _ you weren’t there.  _ Or you were, but it wasn’t  _ you,  _ you weren’t my- soulmate. And I didn’t have someone to love me back like you love me, and they  _ grew  _ and I was choking on them- they were yellow, why did they have to be yellow- I  _ hate  _ this, Thomas.” James’ speech is halting and he’s in so much  _ pain,  _ the worst part is what he’s  _ saying.  _

A world where they’re not soulmates. 

“You loved me,” James recalls, almost dreamily. “I was in love with- I don’t know. I keep having vivid dreams lately, I- I’m scared. Can I be scared? Are we still young enough to be scared?”

“We are,” Thomas says softly. “You’re okay. James,  _ god,  _ we’re okay.”

James laughs ruefully, wincing in pain after a beat of laughter. “I  _ know.  _ The disease is fictional, I  _ know  _ that, but  _ fuck  _ if it didn’t feel realistic.” He looks up at Thomas, eyes wide, shifting slightly to move closer to Thomas. The moonstone ring on his hand brushes Thomas’. “You- you can’t leave. Promise me.  _ Promise.” _

“I won’t. Promise. Together forever, you’re not getting rid of me that easily, love,” Thomas jokes; it falls flat. James just lets out a breath. 

“I  _ hope,”  _ he says.

Thomas squeezes his hand again, casts his eyes to the sky.  _ Please, God. Any god. If you’re out there, if you have that power, please,  _ **_please_ ** _ save him.  _ He sighs, whispers  _ amen.  _

James blinks once. “Praying, are we?” There’s no hint of fondness in his voice. Just exhaustion. 

“I need you,” that’s what Thomas decides on saying. 

James closes his eyes. “I’m tired. I- can I just  _ stop?” _

Thomas lifts his hand, kisses it like they’re teenagers again. Like one of them is leaving.  _ No. James is  _ **_not_ ** _ leaving.  _ “Hey. Open your eyes for me.”

James does. They’re blue. One of the first colours he ever saw. 

Thomas has always loved blue, because of that. 

He will  _ remember.  _

“I’m not gonna let you go.”

James huffs a breath, mutters a quick phrase- maybe Latin, Thomas doesn’t know- and then he looks up. And smiles. 

“I’ll hold you to that, then,” he murmurs. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” Thomas recites ironically. James did love that phrase. 

“You do that, love,” James says fondly. And then he closes his eyes. 

_ Please, God, let this not be how it all ends.) _

* * *

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I  _ failed,  _ I  _ failed  _ you and I left you and I miss you, I’m so sorry,  _ I love you- _

One heartbeat. Two. Un-deux-trois- 

_ Click-boom. _

* * *

Burning, burning,  _ burning,  _ all he can see is blue, an endless sea of blue, suffocating, drowning,  _ help me-  _

“Wake up, Thomas,” James says. His voice is impatient, bordering on annoyed. 

“Huh? James?” Thomas asks blearily. 

“I  _ said,  _ wake up,” James repeats. Angrier now.

“What-?”

“God  _ damn  _ it, Thomas, why the  _ fuck  _ did you think it was a good idea to try and destroy yourself over  _ this?” _

“Destroy?”

James sighs as Thomas blinks his eyes open. He looks younger than he  _ should  _ be, maybe college age, maybe grad school. They’re not grad students anymore, they’re real  _ politicians.  _

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ He remembers now. 

“But you’re-” he breathes. 

“Dead, yes. A figment of your imagination, yes,” James completes. “But I’m  _ your  _ James. I am the one you remember. I am the one you knew.”

Suddenly Thomas is standing up and James is facing him and they are so,  _ so  _ close. Close enough to touch. 

“I’m the one you  _ loved,”  _ James says. “And I don’t want you to die. Not like this.”

“I’m not going to-”

_ “Oh?”  _ James fires. “Self-destructive behaviour, self-hatred, staying cooped up in that  _ fucking  _ graveyard, you could have done a  _ lot  _ better if you wanted to convince me.”

“Stop it,” Thomas whispers. “You  _ know  _ that this was all for  _ you-  _ James. Please believe me- _ ” _

_ “Don’t you fucking  _ **_dare!”_ ** James hisses, and they’re face-to-face, blue eyes-  _ blue-  _ staring Thomas down. Tears glitter in his eyes- Thomas reaches out and wipes them away on instinct, James pulls away. “This was not for me, you think I would have  _ wanted  _ you to- to- hurt and hurt and tear yourself  _ apart?” _

“Can’t I be  _ selfish?”  _ Thomas pleads, and he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince anymore. Himself? Maybe, nothing makes  _ sense  _ anymore. 

“You don’t want this either,” James says quietly. “Because in the end, I’m you, too. I’m  _ your  _ fantasy. I’m  _ your  _ dream. And I am your soulmate, Thomas Jefferson.”

“What can I do?”

James smiles sadly and raises a hand to stroke Thomas’ cheek. “I  _ know  _ I cannot stop you from mourning. I’m not fool enough to think that. But I can ask you to try.”

Thomas lets out a breath. 

_ We don’t think it burns, but it does.  _

_ Burning alive.  _

_ Blue.  _

“Try,” he repeats. 

The thing is. He can’t try when every time he  _ looks  _ at anything even remotely evocative he starts shattering a little bit more.

James looks at him and  _ knows.  _

“It will all be okay,” he tells Thomas. “I’ll see you again. Someday.”

“No, I  _ won’t,”  _ Thomas argues. “Can’t I just-  _ stop?” _

He lowers his head, squeezes his eyes shut. James sees him crying anyway. 

“Hey. Open your eyes for me,” James says gently. The words are so familiar, Thomas can’t help but  _ laugh.  _ He said those words once upon a time. When the world was still… normal. 

He does, though. 

“I am  _ not  _ going to let you go. Ever. You hear me, Thomas Jefferson? You are my soulmate and I may be  _ dead  _ but I will always be with you. Now go. Try for me,” James says, fire glittering in his eyes. It is a little bit unnerving and a little bit reassuring and a  _ lot  _ hot and Thomas decides,  _ it would be nice to kiss him right now, that’s my boyfriend, I can do that.  _ So- he does. 

It is  _ painfully  _ familiar. James gives his all, Thomas kisses him right back, and they are right there in Thomas’ mindscape, and they are home. 

“I’ll hold you to that, then,” Thomas whispers against James’ lips. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” James laughs, light and airy. 

“You do that,  _ love,”  _ Thomas recites. 

“Hey. I’ll be here.”

“No, you won’t, though,” Thomas observes. He feels strangely calm. 

James shrugs. “Your version of me will be. And that’s  _ me.  _ And you knew me. So maybe I  _ am  _ your imagination, but I’m a damn  _ good  _ fantasy, aren’t I?”

Thomas kisses him again, angry,  _ missing  _ him, but- James is disappearing. “I have to  _ go-  _ remember what I said! Stop hurting yourself, you have to  _ try,  _ try for me- I will see you again. I  _ love you- je t’aime-” _

Thomas bolts awake. 

He breathes in. Breathes out. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf. 

James wants him to try. 

Imaginary James wants him to try. 

_ He  _ wants to try. 

_ Maybe. Maybe it will be okay.  _

* * *

He manages to get through  _ some  _ daily routine before he realises: This is  _ not  _ going to be okay. 

He knows that from the moment he opens his closet and sees- grey and white and black and no colour in sight, this is  _ real, I am so sorry, James.  _

Still. Work, maybe? Normalcy? His press secretary has already handled things, bless Martha’s heart, he doesn’t have to, but he promised. Didn’t he?

He  _ has  _ to, he can’t let James down. 

He reaches for one of his suits- it’s white, he normally  _ never  _ wears white, but if he can’t see any colour then does it really  _ matter?  _ No. It doesn’t. 

_ Fuck  _ the world.

He goes to work,  _ does  _ his work, people are  _ still  _ treating him like he could shatter at any moment, which is fair. Doesn’t mean he likes it- oh, he is such a  _ mess.  _

_ I am damaged, far too damaged,  _ but he’s not beyond repair, he  _ can’t  _ be beyond repair, no,  _ no this is bad this isn’t right- _

Alexander, to give him credit, tries. But Alexander will try to make him  _ think  _ and he doesn’t  _ want  _ to think about this.

So he works.

It’s a decent system.

He guesses.

This is not trying. This is called  _ ignoring the problem.  _

But ignoring the problem is a completely valid strategy, right?  _ Right?  _ He can keep doing that, that  _ is  _ trying, it is so  _ hard  _ to try and he’s not ready, how can he be ready?

(“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” James replies. 

“Come on, then,  _ fiancé,”  _ Thomas grins, brushing his lips over James’ knuckles. 

“That’s the last day you’ll ever be able to call me that,” James observes, face perfectly straight, but eyes sparkling, saying more than any smile ever could. 

“So I can call you  _ husband  _ after this, hm?” Thomas laughs. 

“Of course, love.”)

(A wedding that never happened, will never happen now.)

(Ignore the problem, pretend things are okay, that is  _ perfectly fine.) _

_ (he was meant to survive, you should have died instead, or both of you, at least you’d be  _ **_together)_ **

* * *

Then- well, Angelica Schuyler barges straight into his life and slaps him across the face, for lack of a better description. 

She shows up in his office soaking  _ wet,  _ oh, right- she’s back from London today, he’d forgotten about that. He’s forgetting a lot of things lately, it happens. She stares Thomas down from where he sits behind his desk, holding an umbrella, mouth twisted consideringly. 

“What can I do for you?” He asks shortly. He’s not looking forward to whatever she has to say. Angelica has this  _ habit  _ of bullying people into positivity, also for lack of a better description.

“Come with me,” she says, not unkindly, but her tone leaves no room for disagreement. Before he can do anything, she grabs his wrist and pulls him out of his seat, through the hallway, breezes into Alexander’s office and pulls him up by his jacket as well. She deposits them in some diner in a back alley, sits, and  _ waits.  _ No one even gives them a second glance. That’s the beauty of America, isn’t it?

The silence is oppressive. Thomas breaks it by giving Angelica a  _ filthy  _ look across the table. “What are you  _ doing?” _

He has- things to do.

(“Things being James?” Alexander teases.

Thomas smirks. “What do you  _ think?” _

James blushes beside him. Thomas tilts his head down to kiss him on the cheek, and he blushes darker.

“You’re cute when you blush,  _ husband,”  _ Thomas says appreciatively.

“And what I am when I’m  _ not  _ blushing?” James retorts.

“Hot,” Thomas deadpans.

Angelica rolls her eyes. “Eat your  _ goddamn  _ lunch and stop flirting, the food here is the  _ best,  _ don’t waste it. Sweet Jesus, I try to be nice and my poor aromantic ears have to hear  _ this?” _

“They’re  _ disgusting,”  _ Alexander says fervently. “You’ve been in London, you missed their honeymoon period, they were  _ insufferable.” _

“This is payback for that time you made me be your wingman when you were trying to flirt with Eliza,” James counters. Alexander squawks in protest, Angelica throws back her head and laughs, and Thomas just leans back in his chair contentedly. Two of his best friends and his husband, all together, all happy. All alive. 

Life can be beautiful.

Angelica catches his eye from across the table, and grins, lipstick smeared, and he really has missed her company. She helped him talk to James, always did.)

Angelica answers his question matter-of-factly, looking unimpressed. “You can’t just keep doing this.”

Alexander speaks up. “She’s right, Thomas.” He reaches for Thomas’ hand, Thomas snatches it away. 

(James grabs his hand from under the table. The moonstone ring is smooth on his finger, Thomas strokes it gently.

James smiles. Thomas does, too. 

“Oh my God,” Angelica groans, “you two  _ suck.” _

“Dick,” Alexander coughs.

“Alexander is right,” Thomas agrees.

“Angelica is not,” James finishes. “I like us.” He leans against Thomas, head resting on Thomas’ shoulder, hands still intertwined between them. “I like our lives right now.”

“So do I,” Thomas says. “So do I.”)

Angelica eyes him pointedly- how can she  _ still  _ make him feel like a rabbit being hunted down by a wolf, haven’t they moved past that?  _ Apparently not.  _ “God damn it, Thomas. I know you’re hurting. Believe me, I know. I know loss. But you can’t just keep trying to kill yourself working-”

“What do I have left?” Thomas cuts her off, his voice quiet. “James was what kept me going. It was  _ (is, his mind whispers) _ him. All him.”

It’s always been him.

It still is, but he can’t live his life like this, he can’t mourn over a dead man forever.

But he can’t stop himself, all the same. How is he expected to?

He has no one. 

“You have us,” Alexander says firmly. “We care about you, Thomas.” And then he presses where it  _ hurts,  _ fucking  _ asshole-  _

“James loved you. He’d want you to be healthy and happy.”

There is a primal fury igniting within him, and he turns on Alexander with a vengeance.  _ “I loved him!” _

_ “So stay alive for him!”  _ Angelica hisses furiously. 

“He’s dead,”  _ and god, James is dead, he’ll never see James again,  _ “what’s the point?”

“ _ You _ are the point,” Alexander says, and Thomas looks at him, disbelievingly. Is he? Is he  _ really? _

Don’t give up, don’t give up-

_ (give up) _

_ (no one needs you) _

_ (the world would be better off without you) _

_ (only one person ever loved you and James Madison is  _ **_dead)_ **

No, no,  _ stop it- _

(“I am  _ not  _ going to let you go. Ever. You hear me, Thomas Jefferson? You are my soulmate and I may be  _ dead  _ but I will always be with you. Now go. Try for me.”)

Something must change in his expression, because- Angelica looks at him and there is  _ warmth  _ in her gaze. Understanding, maybe. Empathy. Her smile is hopeful-  _ ha.  _ “Try, Thomas. Please. For us. For him. For you.”

“But-”

“We love you too, Thomas,” Alexander says.

They do. 

“He will always be part of you,” Angelica continues.

He will. 

“But life goes on and he would want you to be happy and to live.”

“That man loved you, Thomas. Don’t let his love die in vain. You matter. To him. To us. Take care of yourself.”

Their double act is convincing, no,  _ triple  _ act. Thomas can feel James, somehow, somewhere.  _ I would want you to live. I’ve said that, haven’t I, Thomas? Don’t let my love die in vain.  _

_ Try. _

This is his catharsis, isn’t it?

He doesn’t know how it works, but it  _ does,  _ he wants to get better. He  _ wants.  _ He finally remembers how to  _ want  _ something. 

He matters.

_ You matter, love.  _

Alright.  _ Alright,  _ James. He’ll try. 

Angelica smiles, gently, tiredly. She knows they’re getting through. “Please.”

“I. Okay. I- I will. But I can’t-” 

The hesitation is less than a heartbeat.  _ Fake it ‘till you make it.  _

“-forget him.”

“We don’t expect you to,” Alexander says kindly. “Tell us. Everything.”

James’ ghost flare with contentment.  _ Yes, tell them. Keep me alive. I’ll see you soon, dear. Je t’aime.  _

Then- it’s gone. Thomas is alone in the shitty little diner with Angelica and Alexander. He takes a breath. Sips his hot chocolate. 

A million little things run through his mind.

_ (“What’s wrong, my beloved bother?”) _

_ (“Everything, my dearest downfall.”) _

_ (“Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt thou the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love. See? I was listening when you were talking about Shakespeare.”) _

_ (“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”) _

_ (“Colours are beautiful.”) _

_ (“Magnifique.”) _

_ (“I can’t help it, you’re beautiful.”) _

_ (“And you are incorrigible.”) _

_ (“Sorry, love. You can go back to sleep.”) _

_ (“Thomas, I swear to Lemony fucking Snicket, if you keep on waking me up, you can find someone else to suck your dick.”) _

_ (“Je t’aime aussi. Together forever.”) _

_ (“Together forever.”) _

_ I’m not gonna let you go. _

_ I’ll hold you to that, then. _

And then- the flowers. Maybe, just maybe, the best place to start this story is from its end.

“James Madison’s favorite color was yellow.”

* * *

Somewhere, a fire subsides.

For now. 

**Author's Note:**

> if i sacrifice all the tears i shed in writing this maybe the gods will be moved enough to make destiel canon
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr: [@books-and-spite!](https://books-and-spite.tumblr.com/) i occasionally post something worth reading


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